


A Studio With a View

by actualgarbage



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Clarke, Detective Bellamy, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 06:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3239708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualgarbage/pseuds/actualgarbage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is struggling to get by as it is, but when life throws a couple more well-placed punches at her, she'll take it in stride. So what if she has to pick up some extra work on the side? She'll manage. She always does. Bellamy, on the other hand, is just trying to do whatever he can to let his police precinct's captain let him go back to working the hours he was before the whole incident with his partner. Work is all he has. Well- work and Octavia. Now he's supposed to channel his work into some kind of hobby... Oh well. Whatever gets him his job back,</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey cuties. So this is actually only my second published fic ever, and the first one for this ship (so go easy on me). It's multi-chaptered, obviously, and I have a somewhat hectic schedule, so I can't guarantee that I'll update on any sort of cohesive schedule. As everyone always says though, reviews and feedback of any sort-well, you know the drill. Artists like constructive criticism and praise. Thanks for reading!  
> Ps, my M key on my laptop works sporadically at best, and I don't always catch all of my typos, so if you see any, lemme know.

Clarke had always been especially good at managing her stress. Whether it was stress from dealing with her overbearing mother, or being forced to interact with her lousy cheating ex-boyfriend’s attempts to  ‘win her back,’ Clarke always found a healthy outlet for her stress. It usually ended up turning itself into another charcoal drawing or impressive painting. So when Clarke’s landlord told her she could no longer use her apartment as a workspace for her art, she didn’t exactly know what to do.

She stood still, listening to Mrs. Kane, an old family friend murmur her apologies to her tenant, but seemed incapable of response.

“It isn’t anything personal, dear, it’s just that the paint has gotten on the walls a time or two, and although your work is lovely, it just can’t be done here. It’s a technicality in your contract, and I’m so sorry. But with you selling the art as your living, it makes the apartment a business place of sorts, and the lease is for a residential space. I’ve looked into it with Marcus, but he said that legally he can’t find a way out of it.”

Clarke was still standing there, gaping. If Marcus knew, that meant her mother knew as well. It meant she could expect a phone call soon. Great. Add that to the list of things she didn’t want to deal with.

“Oh, Clarke, dear. Please say something. I can suggest a few spaces not too far away for studio space if you need it.” Mrs. Kane placed a gentle hand on Clarke’s shoulder, snapping her out of her stupor.

“I understand. I- um thank you for your offer, too. I think I’ll be okay on my own though. I’ve seen ads for space around town,” she lied, “and I think I should be able to find some nice space on my own. Thanks again,” she said gently closing the door on the woman. It was rude of Clarke to shut her out of her apartment like that but Clarke decided she didn’t care because it would be better than losing it in front of Mrs. Kane.

Alone now, she moved further into her tiny living space and collapsed onto the only chair that wasn’t completely covered in her sketches and old artwork she’d been filtering through earlier. She felt tears start rolling down her face and quickly grew frustrated with herself for it. She was Clarke Griffin. Clarke Griffin didn’t cry- or at least she actively tried not to (it couldn’t always be helped).  She especially didn’t cry over things as trivial as this.

She wiped her eyes and made a beeline for her laptop. Opening it, she began running through her options in her mind. She could move to a new apartment (probably not the best solution considering how her family connections were the only things keeping her rent manageable), she could see if any of her friends might be able to let her use their apartments (but considering that none of her friends had large living spaces or anything, she figured it was better not to ask), or she could rent some studio space.

The problem was that Clarke had very limited funding to begin with.  Chicago wasn’t exactly known for having particularly low rent. Selling art wasn’t exactly a steady source of income- something her mother reminded her of every time they spoke.

She was still bitter that her daughter wasn’t following in her footsteps as a doctor. It wasn’t that Clarke couldn’t have done it; she had the brains and the willpower to get through med school and could probably have become an incredibly successful surgeon. No, Clarke had decided to switch from pre-med to fine arts because of her father.

Jake Griffin had been the reason that Clarke discovered her talents. She vividly recalls her childhood spent next to her father in his office watching him draft machinery day after day. His career had been very successful, and he was one of the best engineers in the nation. After dinner every evening, he would go to his office, leaving the door cracked in anticipation of his curious daughter who would sneak in after about 10 minutes of him working. She would crawl up onto his lap and sit quietly as he looked over her blonde curls and drew his plans out. He didn’t realize how closely she had been paying attention until her kindergarten class’s parent night when he saw wobbly sketched engines taped to the classroom with her name scrawled on the top of it in 5 year old handwriting. Soon after that, Jake started putting a second chair at his desk and laying out pencils for her. She’d watch him for a while and then start drawing. She had a knack for detail that even some of his colleagues were lacking. Obviously, being only 5 years old, she was hardly an expert artist, but she was certainly better than any 5 year old he had ever seen.

Their nightly work sessions continued through her childhood, much to Abby Griffin’s chagrin. Clarke was 14 when she first heard them arguing about the amount of time she spent “doodling,” as the older Griffin woman called it. She recalled hearing the raised voices debating her potential. Her mother had always pushed her to focus her energy on studying- especially science and math, and her father had always told her to do what made her happy.  She didn’t stick around very long to hear the rest of that first screaming match and she tried to pretend it hadn’t happened. It was hard to keep pretending that though once it kept happening. She started to feel guilty for drawing, and showed up in her dad’s office less and less frequently.  She took (and aced) all of the AP science classes her high school offered and tried to convince herself she was making both of her parents proud. She kept telling herself that becoming a doctor would make her happy. Art was pushed to the side and called a hobby rather than a passion.

Then came the accident. Clarke remembers the day with astounding detail. She remembers oversleeping, and rushing to meet Wells at the library for their usual Saturday study session. They had just spent the morning on the specifics of the civil war and the reasons behind its astounding death toll. She first closed her history text book followed by her notebook and in putting them in her bag she happened to knock three highlighters on the floor. She bent down to retrieve them, and when she rose back up to the table, her phone was lit up with her mother’s face. She considered ignoring the call on account of a fight she had had with Abby earlier in the week, but deciding to be responsible, she slid the green circle over, and heard her mother sound weaker than she ever had before.

“Clarke?” she said shakily, “Clarke there’s been an accident. I need you to meet me at the hospital please. Come as soon as you can. Your father, he-“Abby choked on her own words then and couldn’t continue, but it didn’t matter, because Clarke had already dropped her phone. She furiously began shoving things into her bag, not yet able to answer Wells’ questioning eyes. He followed suit quickly, and they both stood to leave. She paused as if just realizing that he was there with her.

“Wells,” she almost whispered, “we have to go to the hospital. Right now.”

Still unsure, he nodded. Grabbing her keys, he ushered her out to her car with his hand on her back and drove her to the hospital, holding one of her hands the whole way there.

He drove quickly but carefully, and he found a parking spot in front of the emergency room. Clarke fumbled with the door handle and eagerly pushed the door open as soon as the car came to a halt. She started running towards the building without hesitation, wells at her heels. When they reached the receptionist’s desk, Wells had to do the talking and he asked for Abby Griffin. She remembers feeling like there was a snake wrapping around her neck- she could hardly breathe, much less form a cohesive sentence.  It wasn’t long before the nurse was giving them her location.

Clarke had spent a lot of her childhood in that hospital. She knew her way around it flawlessly. She remembers though that in that moment she couldn’t have told her right from her left. She honestly doesn’t know what she would have done if Wells hadn’t been there with her.

They found Abby outside of surgery, standing so still that she could have been made out of marble, her hand over her mouth, staring at the two with a look that couldn’t be described any other way than broken. Clarke fell to her knees, unable to breathe, the snake having wrapped its way around her for the kill. She felt Wells crouch down beside her, wrapping her into his chest and the two of them cried together.

Clarke sighed at the memory and quickly began searching for available studio space near to her apartment.  Her findings weren’t all that she was hoping for, but she had three addresses within 4 or 5 blocks of her, and she began emailing the renters to set up times to come check out the space. After that, she pulled up a search engine to look for jobs. There was no way she could afford to rent without another job.

Well. That may not have been true.

She could always go to her mother.

She quickly pushed that thought aside though. Clarke decided the job search could wait a few hours, grabbed her coat and her keys and went out the door. She sure as hell could use some fresh air. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 2, kiddos! Thanks for all of the reviews I got from you yesterday. I'd be lying if I said that they didn't leave me grinning like an idiot. What can I say, I thrive off of praise. Lemme know if you spot any errors.

Bellamy was pissed.

Come to think of it, that wasn’t really unusual for him, but it was still worth noting every time it happened (if only so you could avoid his rage-filled path).

Today’s anger was directed at Lexa, the captain of his precinct.

“Get a hobby? Are you kidding me? You want me to sit a home and knit instead of working?”

Lexa wasn’t pleased with his response to her offer, but she also wasn’t surprised.

“Officer Blake, you and I both know that you haven’t been handling these recent events in a way that most people would consider healthy. It’s been affecting your work. So you can either work fewer hours and take up a hobby until you work things out, or you can go back to having a desk job. It’s up to you. I don’t care what you choose, but until the force’s psychiatrist deems you stable enough, you can’t go back to doing the job the way you were before.”

Bellamy knew she was right. It had barely been a month since his partner had been killed while standing right next to him. The two had been following up on an anonymous tip about some gang activity in a shadier section of town when it happened. The gang, however, was not surprised by the Cops showing up, and immediately overpowered them. Bellamy had to watch Atom get brutally beaten before backup could arrive.

Bellamy hadn’t escaped unscathed physically, but his injuries weren’t nearly as severe as his partner’s. They both fought for their lives in the hospital, but only Bellamy recovered.  He’d tried to throw himself back into his work, but his inability to sleep or focus was taking its toll.

He knew he wasn’t okay, but that didn’t mean he was going to publicly acknowledge it. He had far too much pride to admit that he needed help.

Lexa, however, wasn’t asking him to admit anything. She wasn’t giving him a choice. She knew he hated desk work more than anything. “Do you have any hobbies already, Blake?”

The only answer she got was a tired glare.

“Damn it, Bellamy. Is there _anything_ that you do for fun?” she begged. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could she thought to interject “anything other than your job?”

He quickly shut his mouth again. Taking a few seconds to think, he sighed in defeat. “I used to do woodworking. I guess I sort of enjoyed it.” That was a huge lie. He used to love shop class in high school. He was excellent at it, too. He could wield a knife beautifully and his carving skills were unmatched. “But I don’t have anywhere to do it anymore, so it’s out of the question. Any other ideas?” Bellamy hoped that this was a good enough reason for his commanding officer to just drop the whole thing- but he was sleep deprived, so his hope wasn’t exactly well placed.

Lexa grinned. “Lucky for you, Anya has some space she rents out to artists. She’d be willing to have you as a tenant.” Bellamy was unsurprised to hear that the Captain and her wife had already come up with options for him. Lexa was always thinking at least three steps ahead of everyone else, and Anya was two steps ahead of her.

He sighed loudly, bowing his head. Lexa knew she didn’t need to waste anymore breath trying to convince him. She wrote down an address for him and told him that Anya would meet with him there and show him around.  Then she gave him the rest of the day off.

Bellamy was reluctant to pick up his craft again- he hadn’t done it in years, but he knew there was some truth to what Lexa was saying, and Octavia probably would be thrilled to hear that he was carving again. He’d tell her when he’d go to pick up his tools from her house that she shared with Lincoln in the suburbs. Maybe he could make them a wedding present. He figured that she’d love anything that he got them, but Bellamy remembered how her face would always light up when he handed her a new figure he’d made out of a scrap of wood.

Growing up, the Blakes hadn’t exactly been wealthy. Octavia never had the chance to take ballet lessons like all the girls in her class did. She didn’t have hundreds of Barbies lying around to play with. Sure, Aurora did everything she could to take care of them, but being a single mother wasn’t exactly easy. It meant she worked long hours at all times of the day and night, just to be able to pay rent at a tiny apartment in a good school district. Bellamy had never had the chance to join any sports teams or clubs because he spent all of his time taking care of his little sister. He tried not to resent his circumstances- he especially tried not to resent Octavia. Sometimes though, it was hard not to. On days when a young Octavia was being especially bratty, he took to blowing off steam in the wooded area behind their apartment complex.  It was there that he used an old pocket knife and taught himself to carve with sticks and logs that he found lying around.

He made dolls for O, he made figurines, Christmas ornaments, elaborate sculptures- anything he could. When he was 14, he got a special set of knives from Aurora. They weren’t great quality- that would cost too much. But they were better than what he had been using. He got good. Like, _really_ good. shop class was a breeze for him in school. A year or two later, Octavia and his mother had convinced him to try and sell some of his pieces (He felt so dumb that he hadn’t thought to do that earlier), so he got a permit to have a booth at a local art fair his town held in a park each summer. He made $1400 his first summer. Some of those customers came back for additional pieces, and before long, he had built up some good clientele.

When Aurora Blake got sick, Bellamy was forced to take a break from his craft. He got a real job, and made up for where his mother couldn’t work anymore. When she passed, he had just graduated high school. He put his future at the University two towns over on hold and worked 3 jobs to take care of a 13 year old Octavia.

He enrolled in night classes at a community and technical college and got a rudimentary degree in criminal justice. He and Octavia graduate around the same time. She had worked the past several years on perfecting her college application, and ended up getting a full ride to the University of Chicago. Bellamy got himself into the police academy there, so they packed up their bags and moved from their mid-sized suburban town in southern Illinois up to the big city.

Somewhere along the way, Bellamy’s craft had been forgotten. He only knew O had his tool set because he’d accidentally found it several months prior when he was helping her move into the house she and Lincoln had bought after they got engaged.

As he walked out of the precinct, he nodded to Miller and Monroe. They gave him the same sad, small smile that he’d been getting for weeks, and he grimaced at it. He was ready for everything to go back to normal, and if taking a few weeks off to “relieve some stress” was what it took to get there, he’d do it. He might not be happy about it, but he'd do it anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So??? Thoughts? Predictions? Tell me how I'm doing. The next chapter won't be up as quickly as this one was, and I'm v sorry about that. I don't have a set date in mind for when it will be up, but I'm hoping within the next week. I have a pretty clear picture in my head as to where this is going, but I don't have much time to write in between school and working on my art portfolio and everything else I do in between, but I'll do my best! XOXO


	3. chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke goes for a stroll and makes a new friend on the way. She can get her life together tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow okay looks like I'm already living up to my username because I said I'd update soon and it's been soon+like three weeks sorry. Junior year has been kicking me in the face and when I do have free time I want to sleep instead of write because I suck.  
> As always, let me know if you see any mistakes because I don't have a beta for this fic. Any feedback is appreciated, cuties!  
> Lemme know!

Clarke wandered the city for a while before ending up at her favorite coffee place. As soon as she opened the door, Jasper, the barista started getting her order together. She never came in at the same time, but it always seemed like Jasper or his best friend Monty was working whenever she did.

“Hey, Clarke!” Jasper set her Pain au Chocolat on a pastel colored plate and passed her a mug of a steaming dark roast with an extra shot of espresso.

Clarke saw Monty towards the back of the café having a lively discussion with an unfamiliar brunette. Jasper followed her gaze, and was quick in anticipating her next question. “That’s Octavia. She’s a friend of ours from undergrad.”

Clarke nodded, and then moved on to small talk with Jasper while she wrestled with her overstuffed coat pockets to retrieve her wallet.

Octavia was pretty, Clarke thought.

No, pretty wasn’t the right word for it.

Octavia was... radiant. Her face was lit up with conversation and she was incredibly animated as she recounted some story to Monty about who-knows-what. Clarke wanted to befriend her. She had the natural kind of energy that just drew people to her. Clarke had always sort of envied people like that. She’d always wished that she had that allure too, but never felt like she did.

She gave Jasper the money and listened to him ramble on about how there needed to be reform in the pastry making world because he was tired of being told they were a “weak dessert,” or something along those lines. Clarke was only halfway paying attention anyways. Jasper had a tendency to go off on tangents, and he didn’t really expect anyone to fully listen. He was one of those people that could talk to a brick wall.

Before he had finished dismantling the hierarchy of sweets, Monty noticed that Clarke had shown up and was quick to usher her over to the table where Octavia was sitting.

“Octavia, this is the Clarke I was telling you about, and Clarke, this is Octavia.”

Octavia beamed and held her hand out expectantly. Clarke didn’t hesitate to shake it, and when Octavia motioned to the unoccupied chair next to her, Clarke gladly accepted it and took her place next to the girl.

“So, Monty tells me you’re an artist? I think that’s really great. I’ve always had a really big appreciation for art- mostly just because I can’t even attempt it. I can draw stick figures and that’s as far as I can take it.” Octavia  rambled.

“Yeah, “ Clarke returned, “It is pretty great I guess. The whole lack of a steady income thing- that’s a little bit less great, but at least I love what I do. What do you do?”

“I actually work in public relations with an agency here in town.”

“She’s the person that celebrities call when shit goes down,” Monty looked at Octavia, a proud look on his face and Clarke could tell how strong the friendship between them was. Octavia chuckled at his words.

“Actually,” she started, tossing a pointed look at him. “We mostly deal with businesses and non-profits. Our LA offices are the ones that handle the celebrity drama.”

Jasper chose that moment to finish up with something behind the counter and come over to the conversation.

“One time O’s agency stopped a _scandalous_ story about Nikki Minaj almost killing someone,” Jasper’s grin looked mischievous as he spoke, and Octavia rolled her eyes and swatted at his arm. Turning her attention to Clarke she quickly corrected him while Monty was laughing his ass off.

“Nikki was backing out of her driveway and hit some paparazzi on accident. She was only going about two miles per hour and there weren’t any injuries, but they tried to sue anyways. We threatened a lawsuit addressing the fact that they had been trespassing and the charges were dropped. It wasn’t a big deal.” She shrugged.

“Octavia’s being modest. She’s wildly successful,” Jasper contributes. “Whether or not she actually works for Nikki or not.”

Octavia opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID, and then murmured a quick “sorry, I have to take this.” She grabbed the phone and walked towards the front, answering as she pushed the door open and stood outside the window to talk.

“She seems great.” Clarke turned her attention back to her two friends.

“I’m glad you think so. We’ve been meaning to introduce the two of you for a long time,” Jasper replied. “Actually, we’ve really been meaning to introduce you to her brother. He-“

“Jasper,” Clarke glared, “You know I don’t need you to set me up. Remember the last time you tried?”

“How were we supposed to know that he had attatchment issues?” Monty returned.

“He was 28 and still refused to move out of his mother’s house. That should have been a pretty big clue. We went on _one_ date, and it took me three months to get rid of him. I’m not going on anymore blind dates. I do just fine for myself.”

“Whatever you say, Clarke.” Jasper shrugged, but looked unconvinced.

Clarke huffed and rolled her eyes. She’d had the whole “you need to get back out there” conversation too many times from those two. It wasn’t like she wasn’t dating- she was. She just hadn’t stumbled across anyone she felt the need to stay with longer than a month or two. Clarke didn’t really care, though. It was only at her friends’ insistence that she’d been looking anyways. Her career was the thing that occupied most of her attention nowadays, and things had been going fairly well until that morning. That reminded her. She had to check to see if any of the landlords had gotten back to her.

She pulled out her phone while Monty and Jasper changed the subject. She must have missed it buzzing earlier because she had three new emails; two from landlords and one from Green Peace Australia (she wasn’t sure why she always got emails from them, but she didn’t care enough to find out how to unsubscribe from them, either). Midway through typing out a response, Clarke heard the door open forcefully and saw Octavia rushing back towards the table to grab her coffee and handbag.

“Sorry guys,” she directs at them, “Indra is apparently freaking out about something a client did and in her rampage she fired three assistants. I have to get back to work. Clarke, it was so nice meeting you I hope we’ll be seeing each other again soon. Jasper, Monty, see you later!” And with that she was out the door.

Jasper returned to his place behind the counter and Monty began cleaning up some of the tables that had been recently vacated as Clarke finished her emails. She had two meetings the next day with the property holders. She bought another coffee to go and bid Monty and Jasper farewell. She was going to go back to her apartment, relax, maybe take a bubble bath, and then start job-hunting online.

As she meandered back to her tiny apartment, she let her mind wander back to her afternoon. She hadn’t spent much time with Octavia, but she’d really hit it off with the girl. And hey- if Octavia was that pretty, maybe her brother would have a nice face too-only Clarke didn’t _really_ spend _that_ much time thinking about it. She was _totally_ happy being single. Totally. She was just glad to have made a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts????? Comments??? Concerns????  
> this chapter was really hard to write because not a whole lot happens in it. Mostly just a filler, and a way to get from point A to point B. Bellamy and Clarke are going to meet eventually I promise (just maybe not for a few chapters. We'll see. I live for a slow burn.)  
> I promise to update, but I can't really set a forseeable timeline for when that will actually happen. you can find me on tumblr (my url is bellarkemorelikebaellarke) and please let e know what you thought in the comments below!! Much love!  
> XOXO


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy gets an earful from Octavia and a new set of keys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, this fic has no beta, so if you see any errors (spelling, continuity, my own stupidity), let me know! Thanks, kiddos!

“ _YOO I’ll tell you what I want what I really, really want SO tell me what you-_ “ Bellamy slammed his hand on the off button of the alarm clock that Octavia had gotten him for Christmas when he was 17. He could have gotten a new one in the 10 years since, but he’d never gotten around to it. Lately he didn’t even need the alarm clock. Sleep didn’t exactly come easily to him since Atom’s face flashed through his head every time he shut his eyes.

He sat up groggily and ran his hands over his face. He’d been awake for hours, but he had been trying to keep to some semblance of a schedule and had waited until his usual time of 6:30 to actually get out of bed. Grabbing his phone from its charger, he slid out of bed and made his way to his apartment’s kitchenette.

With the coffee pot brewing, he continued through his morning routine, which didn’t consist of a whole lot since he didn’t have to go to work. His meeting with Anya wasn’t until 2 that afternoon. Maybe he’d see if Octavia was free for lunch. He had to call her today anyways so he could go get his tools from her garage. He shot her a text as he ate his cereal. She called him back before he could even get his dishes in the sink.

“Hey, O” he greeted.

“Good morning, big brother. “ She chirped back. Octavia hated mornings, but she was usually pretty perky when she woke up anyways.

“You free for lunch today? I’ve got to talk to you about something.”

“Shoot,” she sounded exasperated. “Indra screwed up big time yesterday- you know her whole anger management class thing was supposed to help, but I think it might have made her worse. Anyways, I have to interview for three new hires this morning and then I have to smooth things over with the client she was pissed at and _ugh_ ” she sighs.

“That’s okay, Octavia. We can grab lunch another day. It’s no problem.”

“No!” She almost shouted into the phone in her hurry to answer. “I mean, yes, of course we can grab lunch another day, but I mean you should come to dinner tonight. Lincoln’s making his lasagna.”

“Yeah,” He laughed, “That actually works better. I needed to talk to you about getting some of my old tools out of your garage, so it helps that I’ll already be at your house, which happens to be attached to the garage.”

“Your old tools? Really? Are you carving again?” she sounded just as thrilled as he thought she would. “what’s that all about?”

“It’s a long story, but basically Lexa says I have to pick up a hobby or be stuck doing paperwork for the rest of eternity.” He was still pissed about that.

“You hate paperwork,” Octavia agreed.

“ _Everyone_ hates paperwork.”

“That’s true.” She paused then. Bellamy could hear voices in the background and figured he must have caught her riding the L into the city. She’d probably be headed to her friends’ café before she went to deal with her day. He knew she liked blueberry muffins on particularly stressful mornings.

“Wait,” Octavia continued. “Why is Lexa making you get a hobby?”

“I guess it’s some sort of arts therapy sort of thing. I still can’t go back full-time until I get the OK from the force’s psychiatrist. “

“That makes sense. You know,” she started, changing the subject because she knew how much her brother hated talking about the events of the weeks prior. “Since we’re on the subject of art, I met a _really_ cute artist yesterday that Monty and Jasper say is _very_ single and-“

“Octavia,” He grumbled warningly.

“No, really, she was very, very cute. She was spunky, too.”

“Octavia. I don’t want you to set me up with anyone, much less some starving-artist type. I don’t care how cute she is.” Bellamy had been on enough blind dates that Octavia had set up. He knew she was just trying to help, but he didn’t feel like he needed it.

“Hey, from what I hear she’s not exactly starving. Monty and Jasper say she’s doing pretty well for herself. They actually have some of her stuff hanging up in their place. You should check it out.  I mean not just because I think you two would be great together, but she’s really good.”

“Maybe.” That was all he was willing to agree to.

“Really?” He could hear her grinning through the phone.

“ _Maybe_.” He stressed, and then when she didn’t answer immediately, he sighed and continued “I do have a meeting with Lexa’s wife about some space that I can use for woodworking on that side of town, so maybe, _just maybe_ , I’ll stop in and see.”

“Yay!” she squealed.

“Don’t get too excited. I’m only going because I’ll be in the area. Ad you’re still not allowed to set me up. I’m not going on anymore blind dates. I can find a girl on my own, thanks.”

“Whatever, big brother. Anyways, I’ve gotta go,” he heard her say as a bell rang in the background indicating that she’d made it to the coffee place. “Dinner at 6 at my place?”

“Yeah, O. See you then.”

“Bye, Bellamy.” She said before she hung up.

Bellamy put his dishes in the sink and lounged around for the rest of the morning with his worn and annotated copy of the Iliad.

+++

1:27 was the time when Bellamy happened to glance at his watch. He murmured a quick string of explicatives and hurriedly moved to get ready. Four minutes later his teeth were brushed, he was wearing actual pants (he figured pajama pants were probably not suitable for meeting with his potential landlord, especially since it was Anya), and he was pulling on a coat as he locked his apartment. He rushed to the nearest L stop and got there right as the 1:35 train pulled up.

He got to the address Lexa had given him the day before with no trouble. The ground level was a bar called TonDC. Bellamy liked the location already. Following the police chief’s instructions, he walked past the bar’s entrance and went in a door that opened to a staircase. Anya was at the top of the stairs talking on the phone and holding onto a binder. She smiled politely at Bellamy, her teeth seeming unnaturally sharp.

Anya was an intimidating woman to say the least. Nothing about her exactly screamed friendly, but in the years since he’d started working at Lexa’s precinct, he’d come to know and like her. The two had a mutual respect for one another.

He stood quietly against the brick wall of the hallway they were in. The staircase behind him went up past the second floor. Bellamy guessed that there were maybe seven or eight stories to the building. From the highly lofted ceilings and the exposed brick walls, he gathered that the building was sort of old. Just as he was turning his gaze to the end of the hall where there were some impressive windows, Anya finished her call.

“Good to see you again, Officer Blake.” She greeted.

“You too, Anya.” He shook her outstretched hand.

“This floor has mostly offices on it. The space I have picked out for you is on the sixth floor.” She moved towards the staircase without saying anything else. She wasn’t one for small talk, really. Bellamy followed her.

They got through about three more flights of stairs before Anya spoke again.

“There is an elevator at the other entrance to the building, but I prefer to take the stairs. It’s healthier.”

Bellamy wasn’t sure how to reply to that so he settled for a hum of agreement.

“The building locks automatically after 6pm and it unlocks at 8 am, so only tenants can enter during non-business hours. Levels three and four are mostly private studio space, but they rent for a higher price. The spaces on the top three floors are shared spaces that I rent out to university students mostly, but I think it will work for what you need.” Anya continued.

They reached the sixth floor and Anya led them down a hallway that looked almost identical to the one on the second floor. She took them to the second door on the right and pulled a ring of keys from her belt loop to unlock it.

“This space is completely vacant as of right now because I just recently renovated it.” She said, pushing the door open.

Bellamy stepped into the room and took in the open space. Highly lofted windows allowed for lots of natural light to illuminate the studio. The wooden floors were polished and the walls that weren’t exposed brick were painted a creamy white. Anya flipped the light switch on the wall next to where he was standing, but the lights didn’t change much because of the light streaming in through the glass.

The woman moved further into the room and Bellamy followed.

“The space should accommodate two tenants, and I have a few meetings lined up to fill the other space this week, but as soon as we get the paperwork out of the way, you should be good to start moving your things in. there’s a kitchenette against that wall,” she gestured to the wall behind him, “and through here there’s a full bath.” She opened a door a few feet down the wall from the kitchenette to show a well-lit bathroom with tile flooring and a claw footed bathtub-turned-shower. “The building was originally a residential space.”

He stepped back into the middle of the room and turned around; taking everything in before he turned back to Anya and nodded.

“It looks great.”

Anya gave another toothy smile at that.

“I thought you might like it. I have the papers for you to sign right here,” she said as she placed the binder on the kitchen’s small island and produced the correct forms.

After all of the legal stuff was taken care of, Anya took the key ring back out and removed the one labelled 6B as well as one for the doors to the actual building.

“Well, I have a meeting in…” she pulled her phone out of her blazer pocket to check the time. “Oh, wow, in about 5 minutes actually. So I’m going to head back down to the offices. Let me know when you’re planning on bringing your things so I can give maintenance a heads up.”

“It should be in the next few days. I’ll walk back down with you.” She nodded and finished gathering all of the papers back into her binder. They walked back to the second floor in comfortable silence.

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Bellamy,” Anya shook his hand before moving down the hall to her office. Bellamy continued down the rest of the stairs and found himself back on the street.  He started towards the coffee shop like he promised Octavia he would. He made it a few steps before his phone buzzed. He looked pulled it out of his pocket, but put it back after seeing it was just another email from Hulu about an updated privacy policy or something.

He looked up just in time to avoid running into a very scrambled looking blonde woman who was looking through her handbag and not doing a very good job of walking in a straight line at the same time. He moved out of her path and chuckled to himself when he heard her mutter a few swear words to herself.

When he got to the café, he hated to admit it, but Octavia had been right about the artist being good. He made sure not to make it too obvious that he was staring at her work because Jasper and Monty would no doubt report to Octavia about it, but he made sure to pick a table right next to a canvas he found particularly appealing as he sipped his dark roast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts????? Comments??? Questions?????  
> Sorry it took almost two weeks for me to force myself to sit and write again! I'm going on vacation in a week and a half, and I'll do my best to post another chapter before then, but no promises! as always, you can find me on tumblr with the url bellarkemorelikebaellarke and Let me know what you thought!  
> XOXO


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke has a really awful day. But really, she should be used to these by now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey cuties! I promised an update before I left and I actually came through (which is honestly kind of a shocker, don't expect this trend to continue). I didn't really proofread a whole lot because I was really just eager to get it posted, so if you see any mistakes in continuity or typos/grammatical errors, be sure to lemme know!  
> This chapter is dedicated to kylatheshipper because she left me the nicest comment with the most encouraging feedback I've gotten like in my lifetime. This chapter probably would have taken twice as long if I hadn't heard from you. You rock, I'm sending you love hearts.

It had been a hellish morning for Clarke, and the afternoon didn’t seem like it was going to get any better for her. She’d already met with real estate agents at two properties, and she’d been terribly let down. The prices didn’t even begin to match what she was willing to pay (which- admittedly wasn’t much), and she was certain that the landlords way overestimated their own spaces. There was no way she was going to pay _that much rent_ for a poorly lit room with exposed piping that would be better suited as a janitor’s closet than a studio.

As if the unfortunate progress in her studio hunt wasn’t bad enough, she’d gotten a text from Raven that Finn, their asshole of an ex was back in town and was likely to try and track her down. Add that to the fact that Clarke had yet to find any job prospects and the tension headache that was starting to form behind her eyes and down into her shoulders even though it was only about 2:30 in the afternoon (she’d been getting them for years, but when they hit it was usually later in the evening), and it made her want to crawl home to her apartment and hide from her responsibilities for the foreseeable future.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have that option. She’d grabbed a late lunch Arcadia Deli and had chatted with one of the girls, Harper, who worked there. Clarke was a few years older, but they’d met at college. Harper was a senior now and they talked idly about her future plans, grad school, and Harper’s boyfriend (“hopefully fiancé, soon!” the girl had spouted enthusiastically) before Clarke had to run. She had another property to visit before she could go home and wallow.

The meeting was at three, but Clarke was nothing if not a punctual person. She made sure to be within a block of the place a half hour before three and decided to scope out the neighborhood a bit. So 2:30 found her standing outside of a bar called TonDC. She pushed the door open on a whim and marched in full force and confident. There was a scruffy looking blonde man behind the bar cleaning shot glasses and he smiled at her warmly. She got the feeling that he didn’t really have any other kind of smile.

Her stride was sure when she walked up and then leaned on the bar.

“What can I get you this fine Thursday afternoon?” The bartender’s voice was warmer even than his smile was.

“Nothing to drink. I was actually just popping in to see if you were hiring?” Clarke had asked the same question a few times already that day but had mostly just received apologetic smiles.

“We could be. It depends on who’s asking.” Was the man’s reply.

“Clarke Griffin,” She said, holding out her hand.

“I’m Wick, I own this place. And I think we could use some extra help around here, actually. You bartended before?”

“I make the best martini you’ve ever had,” She replies with a sharp nod. Wick grinned really big at that.

“Well, Miss Clarke Griffin, I’ll have to test that for myself. Are you free to whip up a few cocktails right now as a sort of interview?”

“Actually, I have a thing at three, but it’s literally right next door. Could I come back right after and continue this conversation then?”

“Sad sack and I will be waiting,” He said, gesturing to a depressed looking middle aged man sitting at the end of the bar drunkenly moping.

“Thanks,” Clarke returned as genuinely as she could. “I’ll be back in…” she trailed off as she checked her wrist to see what time it was. “Oh, shoot, it’s later than I thought. I have to go, but it’ll be maybe an hour or so. See you soon!”

Maybe today wouldn’t turn out to be a total waste. It was hard to be too hopeful though, because she still had to find a studio and the thought of seeing another one that probably wouldn’t look half as good in person as it did on the website brought the stress of her situation back to the forefront of her mind.

As she walked out the door she pulled one strap of her handbag off of her shoulder to rummage around for the notepad that she’d written all of her questions to ask the landlord before she’d agree to sign any contracts. Why didn’t her purse have any damn pockets in it? Everything was just a jumbled mess in the bottom of it and she couldn’t ever find anything in a timely fashion. She swore to herself as her hand came into contact with a pen she’d forgotten to cap before tossing in the bag and left a large streak on her hand.

As she muttered to herself, she heard someone laughing and whipped her head around to the sound, about to berate someone about being rude and laughing at strangers, only to see a tall man with (stupidly nice) curly hair already walking away, shaking his head. She decided she was already cutting it too close to three o clock and spared him the lecture, instead deciding to call him some choice names in her head (asshole was the only one that wasn’t too explicit to say out loud. It had been a _really_ bad day). She quickly found the notepad and went into the door the landlord had told her to use in the email.

She jetted up the stairs and made her introductions with the fierce looking woman, Anya, who owned the property. The two of them traveled up the stairs to the sixth floor. Clarke was a fan of the lofted ceilings and she loved the way the brick looked with the dark finish of the wood floors.

Anya led her down the hallway and pulled out a set of keys, using the one marked 6B to open the door in front of them. She ushered Clarke into the studio ahead of her.

Clarke’s first thought was that there was no way in hell she could afford to rent here. She had to stop herself from turning on her heel and running right back out of the building so she wouldn’t be have enough time to get attached to the space. It was _perfect_. She could picture herself setting up shop there and working there for the rest of her life if she was honest. The windows looked out at the surrounding buildings and a few rooftops across the way. She was so caught up in staring that she almost didn’t hear Anya start talking. The woman launched into what sounded to Clarke like a very practiced speech about all of the amenities the space provided (Clarke wasn’t really sure why an art studio needed a claw-footed bathtub, but she wouldn’t complain. Not like she’d get the space anyways). She only half listened until she caught something about “shared space”.

“Wait, this is a shared space?” Clarke stopped her.

“Oh, I thought I had mentioned that earlier. Is that not what you’re looking for? I have a few private studios downstairs that I would be more than happy to show you if you want.” Anya returned.

“No! That won’t be necessary. A shared studio is perfect actually. It means rent is lower,” she said in a joking tone, but she wasn’t joking. It all came down to price, and she’d share with anyone if it meant she could afford to stare out those windows while she was painting.

“Yes, it does. I have all of the rates and fees here,” Anya pulled a packet out of the binder she was holding and passes them to Clarke before she continues. “This particular space only holds two tenants. Some of the other spaces hold more, but I usually rent those to undergrads.”

Clarke flipped through the packet that she had been handed and could have cried from joy at the numbers she saw.

“Where do I sign?” She beamed at Anya who smiled in return (Clarke noted that even her smile seemed scary. Who has teeth that sharp?)

“I can have the paperwork drafted up for you to sign by tomorrow. We can set up a time for you to come back and take care of all that whenever is convenient for you, and after that you can move your things in whenever, just so long as you let me know so I can inform the maintenance staff. I had Mr. Blake, the tenant you’ll be sharing the space with, come in and sign the required forms for the space already today. There’s a possibility that he might be here the next time you come in, as he is planning on setting up here in the next few days or so, but if he isn’t, I’m sure you’ll run into him fairly soon. “

“I mean it would be hard not to. Sharing a studio and all.” Clarke didn’t really care that she was going have to cohabitate with a stranger. It wouldn’t be the first time. Her university assigned the all of the students in her major to studio space on the campus. She vividly recalled her experience sophomore year that was spent mostly with the narcoleptic sculptor and the sketchy looking junior guy that had a different nude model in the space nearly every two days (she had become _very_ comfortable with the human anatomy that year).

Anya nodded at her and then the two launched into a further discussion about finances and contracts as they made their way back down to the second floor. They shook hands before Clarke made her way back out to the street with an appointment to return the following afternoon.

When she was back on the street, she heaved a sigh of relief. What had started out as a day of disappointment was turning out to be a little bit less awful now that she had one less thing to worry about. She turned on her heel, then, and headed back to TonDC as she had promised she would.

Wick greeted her even more enthusiastically than he had before and Clarke found herself feeling more at ease than she had not too long before.

“Clarke Griffin!” He exclaimed as he came around the bar, threw a towel he’d been using to dry off glasses, and stuck his hand out for her to shake.

“As promised!” She returned, matching his tone.

“Well, while you were gone, I came up with a list of drinks for you to whip up.”

“I have my resume on me, too, if you want to see it.” Clarke put her bag down on a table and took her jacket off. She proceeded to take out a folder from her bag with a copy of her work history in it that she had been carrying that day in hopes that an opportunity like this would present itself.

“I have to give you points for being prepared.” Wick took the paper from her when she handed it to him and glanced over it quickly. His eyebrows raised and he nodded in approval before setting it down a few seconds later to look back at Clarke. “I can probably guarantee just from looking at this that you’re probably going to get the job, but I still want to see if you can deliver on your promise of the best martini I’ve ever had, because I’m pretty partial to the ones that I make.”

Clarke let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding with a breathy laugh.

“This is the best job interview I’ve ever had,” She told him, truthfully as she followed him behind the bar. She’d worked at a bar for about 6 months after her junior year of college on through the beginning of her senior year. She’d quit because the boss had been borderline psychotic. She prayed constantly that she’d never run into a certain Diana Sydney ever again- the woman was truly horrible.

“Being the boss has its perks. Job interviews suck. Now that I get to hire people, I usually just go with my gut. Just so long as you’re not a serial killer or anything, we should be fine. Plus,” he shrugged, “you’ve got the experience and I could always do with another set of hands around here.”

“Well, the last time I checked,” She responded, “I wasn’t a serial killer, and I don’t have any plans to become one in the immediate future so I guess we’re all good.”

Wick smiled at that and then proceeded to have her make a series of cocktails (“holy shit, Blondie, you weren’t kidding about that martini, but the corkscrew you made is even better”). They discussed some more logistics of the job and worked out a schedule for her. Wick admitted that he had been planning on putting an ad out (“or getting one of those little ‘help wanted’ signs to put in the window, but I don’t know where you’d actually find one of those so it would just be a flimsy piece of printer paper with my crappy handwriting begging for help, and that’s just pathetic.”) in the next couple of weeks for a job opening, and that she’d been an answer to his prayers.

Her first shift was on Sunday. She made a mental note that that meant she’d get her first paycheck _just_ in time to pay all of her bills. By the time she left the bar it was almost 6:30 and she didn’t have a headache anymore. In fact, she barely remembered that she’d been in horrible mood just hours before. Maybe things were finally going to go her way for once. God knows she deserved it. Her life hadn’t exactly been smooth sailing up to that point. But she wasn’t going to dwell on that tonight.

She walked back to her apartment in a good mood with a plan for a glass of wine and a good book to celebrate. She changed into her robe and was settling down with _the Beautiful and the Damned_ when she heard a forceful knock on her door.

She grumbled slightly but set the book and her wine glass (although it was more of a wine _bowl_ than anything else. It was seriously huge.) on the coffee table and went to the door.

Clarke had never been more thankful that she had a peephole, because who was at her door, but a very hopeful looking

_Finn Freaking Collins._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?????? Comments???? Suspicions?????  
> I promise they'll meet eventually! I swear! I just wanted to make sure that this story gave adequate backgrounds for both of them because as much as I love them together, I also love them as individual characters. I think it would feel a little cheap if I diminished their characters to just love interests rather than fully formed adults. I just love this show so much that I want to at least attempt to do it justice.  
> I'm not sure when I'll get the chance to update again, but I'm thinking it might not be as soon as I know some of you guys are hoping. Junior year is kicking my butt, I'm going on vacation on Thursday, I have my interview for the summer arts program I'm trying to get into (I feel artist!Clarke on a deep, emotional level) as soon as I get back in the country, and then I'm back to a mountain of schoolwork. I'll find a way to work writing in, though, I swear!  
> Let me know what you thought!  
> XOXO

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts??? Feelings???? Comments????  
> I can promise you the next chapter will be up either later tonight or tomorrow, because I have only about a paragraph or two left of it to write. I also have half a history essay left to write tonight though, so It's more likely to be up in the morning. Much love, dearies!


End file.
